Spice in the Sun
by Pen.Hastings
Summary: Years after A Horse and His Boy, adventure and love strike Aravis and Cor. Dealings with Calormenes daring acts of valor, voyages or peril, and well-placed quarrels combine to delight! Prologue and first 3 chapters are up!
1. Prologue

Prologue:

Nightmare and Dream

Aravis woke from feverish dreams that dark, chilly night. The sheets and her face were damp—both sweat and tears mingled, and she smelled her own fear, drawing the covers closely about her.

She had the dream once more. It was always the same… and always it shook her. As she breathed in deeply the scent of a northern night, she felt calmer, knowing it was only a dream…

It began with riding for her life on her blood mare, Hwin. They were escaping 200 Calormene soldiers astride fast horses, crossing over the desert. Beside and ahead of her, the boy, Shasta, whom she now knew as Prince Cor, was riding low on the back of the charger, Bree.

If the soldiers weren't enough to scare them, the Lion certainly added to the fear. He was quick and lithe—swiftness itself on four strong, thundering legs, his teeth bared and his dark eyes terrible to behold.

Aravis could taste bile in her throat as the Lion gained, his hot breath causing tiny hairs on her neck to stand frozen. A matter of moments, she knew, before she would leave this world and stand before the God Tash and the Lady Zardeena. Though she was paralyzed with fright, she could not urge Hwin on any faster. They were done for.

The great paws reached up, widened, and raked the flesh from Aravis' back. It didn't hurt for the first second… then the pain came, and it was worse than the fear. She almost wished the Lion had finished the job—but he released her, pieces of her skin wedged beneath his sharp claws, and hanging from her shoulders, mingling with the blood now flooding down Hwin's flanks.

She heard shouting… Shasta yelled at Bree to stop… to turn back...to save Aravis. But Bree ran all the more quickly, for ahead was a great green wall—a safe haven, if only they could get to it.

Shasta did the unthinkable… he leapt from Bree's back, bouncing and rolling across the turf. He jumped to his feet, despite the pain he must have felt, and lunged at the Lion, yelling at him. The Lion retreated… and Shasta carried Aravis to the wall of green… the day blackened, and…

Aravis woke up.

It had been four years since that day, and the dreams came to Aravis as real as if she was living it over again. She knew now why the Lion, the great Aslan, gave her the stripes—the shadows of which were now ten thin scars running down her back—for she had not been a kind child, and her cruelty deserved punishment. But it was not the memory of the cuts in her flesh that caused her to shiver in the night, four years later. It was the memory of the boy—Prince Cor, of Archenland, who, without proper training had displayed such courage, that he shamed them all.

And… though she'd called herself his friend since that day, it was not enough, somehow.

In the aftermath of the dream, her sweating had subsided, and the fear had lessened. But the tears flowed more freely than ever. In her chest was an ache unlike anything she had ever known. Her heart, beating thickly and slowly, pained her far worse than the claws of the Lion.

Cor… her rescuer, her friend… would that he might also be… what? Dare she think it? Her love? _Husband_? Such thoughts were foreign to her, and sounded strange in her mind. She'd never thought to marry, for she fled her own home in Calormen to escape such a fate.

But Cor had grown into a man… his shoulders had broadened, his face become serious, and his character solidified into that of the future king he would become. Identical to his younger twin, Corin, when they were boys, he had become a just, honest, and good man with a quiet strength that Aravis could not imagine why she didn't notice before.

And now… she realized she too must have grown. Many things about her had changed. She never used to be interested in fine clothing… now she spent great lengths of time examining her appearance… just hoping he'd see…

Did he know? Would he care for Aravis as she so truly did him?

Those were the fearful thoughts that lingered in her head long after the nightmare faded, the dream of a life with him, it would seem to Aravis, was much more frightening.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Sweet and Spice

Something strange about living at Anvard—well, there were _many_ strange things, as it was incredibly different from her life in Calormen—but one marked thing was the absolute _quiet_ at night. Save for the occasional feast, all retired early in these northern countries, and Aravis' chamber was completely dark. No light from a soldier's fire, nor from the brothels so often found in Tashban, it was such a _different_ life here. Glad to have the opportunity to reside in a country where she was not only _cared_ about, but valued as an _equal_—as a person of intelligence, whose opinion mattered—she did count the blessings of living here, as opposed to worrying about what might happen in future.

Four years was, indeed a long time to live somewhere, and one might think she was used to it by now. Truth be told, there was more activity in one day in these Northern lands than a fortnight in Tashban. Calormines talk of greatness… They boast of battles and doings, but their speech is nothing more than words. The poetic maxims of the Calormine people glorify thought and luxury—but seldom do they praise any _real_ action.

Here… in Archenland… Narnia… the Seven Isles… what a wonderful contrast is made.

And… speaking of contrasts, Cor was one of great interest to Aravis. She remembered meeting the boy—she could not have been angrier to have to travel with him. He seemed _so_ incredibly dull-witted and unintelligent. His ignorance was a vile thing to the well-educated Tarkheena. She realized now more than ever the stuck-up prig that she was.

But in little more than a year, he'd caught up to Corin, his brother, on all the knowledge he needed to acquire, and now… there was no comparison. His brain is first rate, and he often stumped the lot of Anvard's Court in any strategic sport. The only thing his brother could truly beat him in is fighting with his hands. But with the sword and lance, there was no equal to Cor—both deadly and calculating when he needed to be.

But… he also had such… grace in his ways—his movements were unhurried, his thoughts beautiful. It was as if the shrewdness of the South and the merriment of the North mingled together inside him, causing him to fast become Aravis' every waking thought.

She wondered… was there any point in showing him how she felt toward him? Would he notice it? Sometimes she thought he _must_ see _some_thing, must share something of her thoughts. Why, at the Christmas festival not three weeks since, he'd asked her to dance any number of times. Of course… he'd danced with Queen Lucy as well, and various dryads, and even Queen Susan.

Aravis looked at herself in the mirror often these days, wondering if he preferred the pale women of the North to her olive complexion and almond, slanted eyes. What must he think, when he saw her? At least, having grown up in Calormen, he sounded somewhat like Aravis—though he'd lost most of his accent. To hear him speak now was like… how could one put it into words… fresh apples topped with curry… a mixture of sweet and spice to the ear. But Aravis… she was all spice. Sometimes fiery spice that burned the pallet, and wounded the pride.

Why couldn't she learn to hold her tongue when annoyed?

Once, while coming back from helping King Lune to feed the dogs, she passed by the tilt yard, watching Cor and Corin spar with swords. She watched as they parried, enjoying it somewhat, for both were fine swordsmen, when Corin leapt backward, knocking her to the ground, which was covered in mud from cold winter rains.

Oh, the curses that issued from her mouth… she blushed even now as she recalled calling on the more colorful Calormine gods, cursing his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren to the ends of time. Corin was shocked to say the least, and simply stood there, staring at her as she tried to pull herself from the sticky mud, with little success.

Cor, in full armor, walked over to Aravis, stuck his sword upright in the soft ground, and tore off his helmet, revealing long golden locks, dampened and darkened with sweat, and reached down for her hand. "My Lady," he said, a kind smile on his face that held nothing of mockery in it.

Instead of taking his hand, Aravis chose to see insult where none was meant, and shouted, "Watch where you're walking, both of you! You're just as bad as him, Cor!" She struggled for a moment, and with a great squelching sound, managed to pull herself up from the mud, her pride hurt more than her backside, and she walked straight-backed into the castle and demanded hot water for a bath.

As she soaked in the luxury of fine-smelling soaps and rose petals, she realized how unreasonable she'd been, and made a promise to apologize that very evening.

Unfortunately, it was the next morning when Cor happened to be leaving to visit the old Hermit of the Southern March, and he'd retired early that night. Now, when Aravis wanted nothing more than to make matters right with him, he was gone from Anvard, and she wondered if he thought she was mad at him still, when, really, she felt foolish, and wished she hadn't acted so childishly.

One bright thing illuminating an otherwise darkened sky was Prince Corin finding Aravis as she broke fast that morning and apologized for knocking her down. She forgave him hastily, and said she was sorry as well… but the more she tried to make it right, the more he told her not to mention it. Such chivalry in this country—unlike anything She'd ever known in Calormen. Even after four years… she still could not believe it.

Oh, Tarkhaans will be gracious enough if they want something you can provide… but no _real_ courtesy resides in their hearts. The thought that Aravis came from a country that she now scorned filled her with shame at times. Certainly, Cor had been raised in Calormen, but he was as Northern of blood as one could be. She wondered occasionally if they thought her as somewhat of an interloper. Certainly, they were friends… but somewhere she wondered if they harbored prejudices that their courtesy would not allow them to voice.

The day seemed long with Cor gone—part of Aravis wished to ride out to the Southern March, to visit the Hermit—after all, he was _her_ friend as well as Cor's, was he not? No one would think her strange. But the more she thought it over, the more she realized it was not the Hermit she wanted to see just now. She wondered… did Cor think on her when he was alone?


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Southern March Visit

Aravis learned much about herself and others in her time at Anvard. Her days were filled with delightful little duties—she never found herself bored, but ached to be as much of a help as her friends would allow. She often wondered if this was because she was afraid that they would disown her if she stopped making herself useful, but as soon as her thoughts drifted thusly, she often reproached herself. Cor, Corin—King Lune… they would never do something like that. Aravis learned about the heart and its tendency to deceit a person, its ability to love and hate freely in the same moment, and its bravery and cowardice over the simplest things. She'd discovered things about herself—about the world at large—that she could not have imagined in her greatest fancy.

She'd been given the opportunity to know and spend time with the highest delight of her life. She knew gladness and despair, the height of exultation, and the depth of ruin. She came to know what it meant to live—to live with every ounce of life inside her… to reach for her hopes and take hold and refuse to let go, come frost or fire.

She… learned the power and pain of love… unrequited love, the bane of all existence. It literally ached in her chest, when she thought of Cor… his perfection in her eyes, and the worry that he would never see her as she so thoroughly saw him.

She_ did_ ride out to see the Hermit of the Southern March. No—to see _Cor_. She could not deny, but she was madness and living death without him. She could not exist apart from Prince Cor. She knew then, as she rode hard from Anvard, the wind cold on her sweaty face, that she was lost in a fierce love for the man she'd once scorned.

It was with a wild heart that she neared the lush, green wall that surrounded the Hermit's home. He'd seen her coming in his pool—it was clear. For he stood at the old wooden doorway and waited for her to dismount. "Well met, my daughter," said the old man kindly in his ancient, creaking voice. He'd not changed in the years she'd known him—he was a comfort to her weary travels and her wild heart.

"And you, o my father," said Aravis. "It has been too long." They embraced like a father and daughter, and with his hand on her back, he led her into the enclosure while she pulled her hair back from her face.

"What a wonderful surprise," said the Hermit. "To have a prince and a Tarkheena share my meal tonight."

"Surely not a surprise, Torlian," said Cor, and suddenly Aravis turned her head to see him, her heart beating thickly. He sat on a rough wooden bench at a table of the same kind, a goblet in his hand and half of a smile on his lips. Aravis' insides leapt at the sight. It was good to be here this night. "For you saw us coming, surely," Cor continued.

"Indeed, my son," said Torlian, for that was the name of the Hermit. "But it was a surprise to behold you in my pool. I was searching for something to entertain, and was blessed with the forthcoming visit. And the Tarkheena would have come to us certainly by surprise, had I not the inclination to look in the pool once more before bed."

"Am I yet 'the Tarkheena' to you, father?" asked Aravis, taking a proffered seat opposite Cor.

Torlian smiled. "It is not a disgrace to embrace your lineage, my daughter. You do your race a great credit—one many have failed to do in years past. Be content."

Aravis smiled then glanced at Cor, who was smiling at her pleasantly. She wondered if he knew just _how_ silver his eyes looked in the moon and firelight. "How are you, Aravis?" …Or how wonderful it felt to have her name spill from his tongue?

"I am well, Prince," Aravis said, feeling shy. "You are, I trust, also well?"

"Very," said Cor. "And all the more with your arrival, my lady." He raised his goblet in salute, and she nodded to his courtesy. It was good the light was faint—for she was certain even her dark skin might show the color of cherries that evening.

Torlian served her wine, bread, and cheese, and sat with them, drinking first to Aslan, and drinking her health. "You must come to see an old man more often, my children," he said, a mock frown on his face.

"It has been difficult," said Cor, stretching. "I train daily now, Torlian. Surely you must know about…" he paused.

"You can speak of it," Aravis said. "It is only the incessant gossip by courtiers that it is intolerable."

Cor nodded, and then continued. "As you know, the new Tisroc is taking his place in Tashbaan, and we have been invited as neighboring sovereigns to attend the coronation. Father… is too ill to attend." He spoke with regret at his father's failing health, and Aravis felt pain for him.

"The new Tisroc will not of course leave Tashbaan for all the gold in Calormen," Aravis added, and Torlian chuckled lightly. It was common knowledge that Prince Rabadash was rather fond of his human form, and did not take well to the idea of turning once more into an ass. It had made relations with Calormen peaceful, no doubt.

"True, true," said Torlian. "And what say you to this invite, Prince?"

"My father the King wishes Corin and me… and Aravis… to attend in order to foster our mutual peace," said Cor.

"Ah," said Torlian. "It is what you do not say, rather than what you say that makes me know _your_ mind on the matter." Looking at Cor, Aravis saw what the Hermit did—dislike for all things Calormine on his face. Though she understood his feeling, there was a pang of hurt in her heart—_she_ was Calormine… what must he think of _her_?

"I couldn't care less if the new Tisroc hangs himself," said Cor, throwing his hands up.

"And you think it unwise to venture into afore-mentioned enemy territory?" asked the Hermit wisely.

"You speak with knowledge," said Cor with a deep sigh. "Aravis disagrees with me." He gestured to her, a pained smile on his face.

"I only think," said Aravis, expertly controlling her ire at his distaste for her people—no matter what they'd done, she would always be one of them—"That we should listen to your father. And that it wouldn't hurt to show some grace."

"My foot," said Cor, pounding his fist on the table. "Do you not remember the people who would force you into a marriage of slavery? Those who would embrace you only to stick a knife in your back?"

"Calm yourself, my son," said Torlian, placing an old, withered hand on Cor's. "_We_ are not your enemies." He looked at Aravis. "I see you have not come to an agreement on this matter. And… what will happen?"

"Of _course_ we will go," said Cor resignedly. "Though I loathe every mother's son of them. I will obey my father the King. I'll be hanged if I make a Calormine visit when _I_ rule Archenland." He muttered as an afterthought.

Aravis did not speak. How could she? Though he'd claimed friendship with her, Cor hated those who were her kin. _She_ had no great love for them, but at least she did not share Cor's great hatred. Perhaps he tolerated Aravis because she'd run away... he'd decided to treat her as an adopted sister. Had his heart grown so bitter to Calormen in these years, though he, like Aravis, had been raised there?

The Hermit spoke her thought, though Aravis would never admit to it. "You must remember, we are in the presence of a Calormine," was all he said, but his voice carried a certain severity that warned Cor against further insult.

"Oh, Aravis knows I'm not talking about her," he said, waving the comment off and smiling brightly at her. "Don't you?" It was hard to resist that smile, and Aravis found herself smiling back at him. "See? She doesn't mind."

"Well," she said, but did not finish the thought. "Cor—it's just… we _can_ make an effort, you know? True, no Tarkaan would do the same for us… but that is what makes _us_ freeborn, isn't it? Or, rather, it's what makes you freeborn… I'm just… here by choice."

"You are a noble lady," said Cor, shaking his head. "Better person than I am, or could hope to be."

"She is, indeed, filled with graceful virtues," said Torlian, raising his own goblet to me.

"I'm surprised," said Cor. "That you would even _want_ to go back. What if your father sees you? Don't they have a law about daughters running away from an arranged marriage?"

"It is true," Aravis said, "They would consider me a criminal, and wish to execute me."

"Then why do you insist on going?" asked Cor.

"Because I know you and Corin will be there to protect me," she replied simply. Realizing the implication of her comment, she hastily added, "As you would for any friend… or… sister."

Torlian smiled and winked an eye at Aravis; making her wonder if he knew what she'd been thinking. "Of course they would," said the Hermit offhandedly. "But now, I believe it is time for sleep. You can discuss this in the morning. I will make up a bed for each of you." He smiled at both Cor and me, and then left the table.

Suddenly, Aravis wished he had not left them alone. She did not know what to say—but Cor spared her. "It's beautiful here at night," he said. "I'd forgotten."

"It is," she replied lamely.

"How are you, Aravis?"

"Well," she said. "I was… a little bored, and your coming gave me the idea to visit as well."

"I'm so very glad that it did," said Cor, smiling with genuine friendship.

"Cor… about the other day…"

"What?"

"I am sorry for the things I said. It was most ungracious of me. Forgive me."

"Forgiven," said Cor, winking in the same way the Hermit had. "And forgotten. I am sure I would not have enjoyed being knocked into the mud either."

"But I let my temper get the best of me," she said. "I thought… at least _that_ part of Calormen was gone from me…."

"Aravis," said Cor, standing up and offering me a hand. Taking it, Aravis rose as well, and then hastily let it go. "I truly wasn't speaking of you when I voiced my dislike for Calormines. I hope you realize that I… esteem you greatly."

_Esteem_, Aravis thought. Not _quite_ the word she hoped for. "I know, Cor," She said, trying to wave away his concern.

"Besides," he added. "I myself was Calormine four years ago."

"You still are in some ways," she remarked. "Your voice… while not giving you away completely, certainly belies your northern blood."

"A mixture of the north and the south in me," said Cor, and laughed. "What a mess I will make as king!"

"Oh, I don't think so," said Aravis, and before she could stop herself added, "You're going to be perfect."

Aravis looked at his face, seeing a little embarrassment—perhaps he thought she was simply flattering him? She was very relieved that, at that moment, Torlian came out and announced their beds were ready.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Chill Air**

The next day was spent in peaceful quiet—the kind where no one feels obligation to speak even. Aravis had forgotten this was what a person could expect from visiting Torlian. Though he was an excellent and most gracious host, she was soon eager to return to Anvard, if for no other reason than to have activity bustling around her once again. She had grown accustomed to Corin's loud and raucous behavior and the visits to and from Narnia to visit with her dear friend, Queen Lucy. Staying here with the hermit was nice… but Aravis was restless, and longed for home. She especially looked forward to it, seeing as in a few weeks she would leave it for Calormen. Lucy, her brothers, and sister would not be accompanying them on this trip, a shame Aravis thought, for she and Lucy had become fast friends. Still, she would be visiting her friend soon, as they were to leave for Calormen from Cair Paravel's port on one of Narnia's ships.

Aravis couldn't imagine a voyage to Tashbaan with Cor… then again, Corin would be with them, so it wasn't _completely_ alone.

"You seem to be lost in thought," said Cor pleasantly. Aravis turned and saw him walking out onto the grass in bare feet, and approach her where she was sitting under a large willow.

"I'd forgotten how peaceful it is here," she said truthfully enough. "Will you never get used to shoes, Prince?"

Cor looked down at his feet, and then chuckled. "I lived without them for fourteen years," he said. "Before father found me. I still love the feel of the grass… the sand... It's one of the main reasons I love it here."

"There's grass at Anvard," said Aravis.

"Yes," said Cor, "But there's also the tilt yard, and chivalry, and all the things I must still learn to be king one day. No walking barefoot at Anvard… but here, Torlian doesn't even own shoes, I think." Cor took a deep breath and sighed. "I still feel like a little boy in rags sometimes, Aravis."

"Well, when the time comes, you'll be more than ready," said Aravis. "And just think… you can create a national holiday commanding that everyone walk barefoot."

Cor laughed and said, "You know, I think I will." An easy silence settled between them, neither felt the need to speak, for both were enjoying the fine spring morning. "Still, perhaps we should return to Anvard today…"

"I suppose," said Aravis.

"I know it's only been one day since we came… but, well… duty calls. And perhaps we can go a little early to Narnia, so that you can visit Lucy."

"That would be wonderful," said Aravis, and after a few moments, she added, "Don't worry, Cor. You will do well, I'm certain."

"But how can you be certain?" asked Cor. "Sword fights and history and mathematics are all very well, but they don't make a king. Even learning policy doesn't do that."

Aravis shrugged. "You saved Archenland and Narnia when you were a boy. You saved my life by charging a lion…"

"A lion who wasn't going to kill you anyway," Cor clarified.

"It doesn't make it any less brave or important," said Aravis. "You didn't know he was safe at the time."

"Surely you don't mean safe?" asked Cor with a half-smile.

"No," said Aravis, nodding. "Not safe… we all know the Lion is not safe. But… oh, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," said Cor. "But does that make a king?"

"You father seems to think so…"

"Oh… father…"

"When I took my leave he was joyous, Cor."

"Joyous and hearty are two different things," said the prince. "He's failing fast. He's not coming to Tashbaan because he's afraid the voyage will…"

"He's stronger than he looks," said Aravis. "Your father isn't going anywhere too soon."

"Hard luck not knowing him until four years ago," said Cor. "Might have been nice to grow up with a father."

"Wasn't that nice for me," said Aravis.

"Sorry… I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," said Aravis. "I wonder, do you think we really will meet him in Tashbaan? He doesn't live there, but I'm certain he'll be there for the coronation."

"Can't say," said Cor. "But I promise… he will not touch you."

Aravis was pleased by the way he spoke these words, but did not reply, for at that moment, Torlian came out with both their horses, saddled and bridled. "I had a feeling you'd be leaving this morning," said Torlian. "I've packed a light lunch for you."

Aravis and Cor took the horses and mounted. "We will visit again soon, Torlian," said Aravis.

"Together," said Cor. "I really _do_ wish you'd take an escort when riding, Aravis."

"I really do wish you'd stop nagging me about it," said Aravis, and smiling at Torlian, she kicked her horse into a gallop. "Besides," she called to Cor, who was soon riding alongside her. "You're with me, and that's escort enough, I should think."

"That's not what I mean," called Cor. "What about the way down here?"

Aravis laughed and spurred her horse faster. Soon they were racing at top speed through the pines and oaks and willows, along the Winding Arrow, and at one point crossing it, splashing through the shallow water of the river, and on to the path through the forest that led northward, to Anvard.

A usual ride to visit Torlian took two hours or more, but since they galloped nearly a third of the way back home, they decided to take a break for lunch, and allow the horses to rest for a while. Thunderheads from the North East gathered over the mountains, threatening an ominous storm to come shortly before they'd finished eating. "That's not a pretty sight," said Cor.

"I love the rain," said Aravis.

"As do I," said Cor, "But this will be no simple rain. Perhaps we should mount up and ride for Anvard."

"If you think it best," said Aravis. "We can't outride it whatever we do, because to spare the horses, it will take at least two more hours to return."

As they mounted their horses, the sky thundered above, rolling across the heavens like a drum roll on a tympani. Rain followed then, like a curtain it swept over the land, showering the riders as they raced for home. In moments they were soaked to the skin, and the air was chill as it can only be in the early springtime. Aravis bent low on her horse's back, drawing the hood of her cloak over her head, but it didn't help keep the rain at bay. The horses were exhausted, and neither could keep up a relentless gallop, so soon they rode at a walk, the wind whipping rain in their faces. "Lovely afternoon," said Cor with sarcasm.

"I suppose we might have asked Torlian to tell us what the weather would be like for riding home," said Aravis shortly.

"I'd think he'd know to look though, wouldn't he?"

"He probably didn't expect us to take an hour long rest," said Aravis. Drawing her damp cloak about her more closely, she shivered from the cold of the afternoon."

"Ah, just think of how hot we'd be in Calormen right now," said Cor. "At least we're not trekking through the desert again, eh?"

"Indeed," Aravis agreed. "That was not one of my favorite days. But I wouldn't say no to a cool breezy room in one of Tashbaan's palaces…"

"Are you serious?" asked Cor.

"No," said Aravis. "I'm not serious. I don't really want to go to Tashbaan either, Cor."

"Then why have you made it such a point to go?" asked Cor.

"It was at the request of your father," said Aravis. "It is at his mercy that I have a home in Anvard. I would not readily refuse him. And he is king, after all…"

Cor laughed lightly. "Does that mean when I'm king you'll do as I say? For instance… like taking an escort with you when you ride somewhere?"

Aravis glanced at Cor's face, his soaked curls that framed it, his cold white cheeks and impossibly red lips. He was smiling… jesting with her. And something made Aravis say back, "Well… you're not king _yet_," then she spurred her horse back into a gallop.

Aravis knew Cor would follow her, but she did not slow her pace. On she rode, faster and faster, over logs and under branches—almost too fast even for her to be comfortable.

Suddenly, there was a terrible moment—which can happen to even the most splendid riders—where Aravis saw something out of the corner of her eye, and it momentarily distracted her. Looking front again, it was too late before she ran headlong into a long, full, branch. It struck her, and though it did not hurt much, she lost her balance and was jerked from her horse, left hanging on the branch.

She grasped at it, knowing she was about to fall to the ground, and then she did fall, twisting her ankle and sitting immediately on the ground. The pain in her leg was blinding; she'd heard a popping sound, and she feared she'd broken it. Her horse, who'd been thoroughly spooked, bolded off into the distance, leaving Aravis alone. It was not seconds later that Cor was at her side, helping her stand again. "_Beastly animal_," said Aravis, and added several curses she would not normally say.

"Careful now," said Cor, "I don't suppose you can put any weight on it?"

Aravis tried to stand on her injured ankle and let out a soft gasp of pain. "No," she said.

"You can't ride then," said Cor. "Well… Can you sit side-saddle on my horse? I'll walk."

"There's no need to walk," said Aravis. "We'll get home faster if you ride as well. I'll just…"

"Let me think," said Cor. He looked around, as though the act of doing so would give him an idea then he said, "Very well, ride with me. Up you go." Cor stepped up to her, placed hands upon her waist and very easily lifted her into the saddle. Aravis was surprised at his strength—of course she'd seen him fight, so it shouldn't be that shocking, but to lift her so easily was not a little alarming.

As quick as thought, he stepped into the stirrup and mounted behind Aravis, reached around her and grasped the reins.

They rode slowly, though faster than they would if he'd been walking, and the clouds were thick. Aravis could tell, however, that the day itself was waning, and the clouds would not remain the sole reason for the darkness. Soon, the only light would be the moon, which was in her full this time of month. The rain lessened somewhat, and became a drizzle, but the evening was as chill as ever. Cor was warm at Aravis' back. At first, she'd avoided sitting too close, with her back to him, but she soon found it difficult to keep space between them. Without warning, Cor placed one arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, saying, "Believe me, it will be warmer this way, and much more comfortable for us both."

So Aravis leaned against him, and indeed he was right. She became so comfortable that she almost fell asleep several times. Even the pain of her ankle lessened, though she was not sure if it was genuinely healing, or simply the close proximity of Cor. Once, when she nearly fell asleep, she jerked awake, afraid she might fall from the horse. Cor laughed lightly, but held her firmly around the middle, and said, "Go ahead and sleep. Trust me; I will not let you fall." After his words, Aravis _could_ not sleep, for he held her still, his hand flat against her stomach, and the pressure, though not unpleasant, was too distracting to ignore. Every part of her was aware of him, not only the feeling of his strength at her back and his arm around her, but the sound of his breathing, the warmth of it on her ear, the scent of him, a northern scent that brought such wonderful memories to her.

It was full night when they finally arrived at the stables of Anvard. Prince Corin came out to them at a run, and even King Lune, as ill as he was, ambled outside as Cor dismounted and lifted Aravis from the saddle. "We saw your horse," said Corin, his face very pale. "And thought the worst. He came only five minutes ago. I was just about to ride out and find you."

"All is well," said Aravis. "I'm perfectly all right."

"You're foot, my dear," said King Lune.

"It will be set right soon," said Cor. "We only need to wrap it tightly—but make haste. She needs to get warm and dry—Aravis, you're shaking."

"I'm fine," Aravis protested, but her teeth were chattering. When she'd been sitting on the horse with Cor, he'd kept her warm, not to mention kept her mind off the fact that she was wet, but now, the night air and breeze went through her, and she was very ready to go inside.

A fuss was made of her by various servants, and soon she was brought into her own chamber, a steaming bath prepared by a glorious fire, with a promise of supper following. After bathing and dressing, someone came in to wrap her foot tightly in a bandage. It was swollen, but apparently it was only a bad sprain, nothing broken. Relieved, she said she wished to join the others for supper, and someone helped her to descend the stairs. She found King Lune, Cor, and Corin seated in the dining hall, in the midst of a bounteous meal. Cor immediately stood and came to her side. "You are well, I trust?" he asked.

"Yes," said Aravis, though her voice was low and nasally, and her throat a bit sore.

"You've taken a cold," said Cor, politely ushering her to a chair, taking care that she should not hurt her foot any more.

"Not bad," said Aravis, sitting. She looked into the concerned faces of the King and Corin, and said, "Seriously. Though… I may have strong words with that horse."

"I could box it," said Corin, and everyone laughed.

"Well," said King Lune, "And how is the good Torlian?"

"Very well, father," said Cor.

"Splendid," said Lune. "And you will soon leave for Narnia, and then Calormen?"

"Yes," said Cor, and Aravis could tell by the way he spoke that he was resigned, and did not wish to argue the point.

"I say," said Corin, "It will be quite a sport to travel all that way in a Narnian ship—I've not been in years."

"Nor have I," said Cor. He did not add, Aravis noted, that he wished not to have to go even now.

The meal was quiet, as suppers at Anvard usually went, and Aravis knew it was partly because of Cor's ire about having to travel to Tashbaan, and partly it was their collective concern for the King's health. He was the first to retire that evening, and he needed assistance to walk to his chamber.

"I'm surprised father doesn't spend all of his time in bed these days," said Prince Corin, taking a long draught of ale from a goblet.

"He's perfectly able to come down to supper," said Cor, a little shortly.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Aravis noted a tangible discomfort in the air.

"Father… won't live forever, Cor," said Corin at last.

Cor pounded the table and stood, turned then taking a deep breath, he said, "He's not dying, brother." Looking to Aravis, he said, "Good night, my lady." Cor turned and stomped away toward his chamber.

Corin shrugged, and taking an overly large bite of pheasant, he said, "That man needs to take hold of reality."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Narnia and the North

The next two weeks seemed to fly by as Cor, Corin, and Aravis prepared to leave for Narnia, and eventually to Tashban. Cor seemed busy with matters of state, and spent a lot of time in his father's chambers, pouring over books, maps, and ledgers. His father seemed to think it wise to give him instruction, hinting that he might not live to see his sons return from Calormen.

Aravis sensed Cor's reluctance to believe his father was dying, and she knew that he kept his mouth still about it only out of deep respect for him. The tension by the morning it was time to ride for Narnia was very thick between father and son. If it had not been for the raucous laughter of Corin as he bade the court farewell, Aravis might have screamed just to break the otherwise sharp silence.

The party left Anvard on a sunny morning, in a caravan line of wagons and carriages, though Cor, Corin, and Aravis preferred to ride ahead of their baggage. Aravis had not spoken to Cor much since the night they traveled home from the Southern March, and she was shy even about looking at him.

He'd not made an effort to speak to her, either, she noticed. It was almost as if they'd silently agreed not to mention their ride home on his horse, though she burned with the memory of it. It had been perfectly normal and chivalrous of him to help her as he had… but Aravis knew that, had Corin done the same thing, it wouldn't have affected her so. She knew closeness to Cor that he would not speak of, and she could not stop thinking of. She knew the warmth he could give, and his strength, and his scent… and Aravis was not irrevocably heading down into a chasm of despair because of his apparent avoidance of her. She did not know how long she could keep it up, this being ignored. Well, not totally ignored. Whenever he happened to see her, he was very polite—almost severely polite to her—a cold kind of politeness that held none of the warmth of which she knew he was capable. This was worse, almost, than being ignored absolutely.

Corin had done his best to lighten the situation, for though he did not know the reason for Aravis' hurt, he sensed that she was not herself. "How is the ankle?" asked Corin, riding beside her.

"Better, thank you," said Aravis. "It really doesn't hurt anymore."

"It was the most splendid shade of violet, though," said the prince with a wide grin. "I've had black eyes that were not that brilliant in color."

"I'd wager some of those black eyes were deserved, though," said Aravis.

Corin laughed. "That sounds like something Cor would say," he said. "You spend far too much time with him, my lady."

Aravis looked toward Cor, who rode in front of the procession. He was sitting tall, his head forward, and looking very grave. "Not anymore," she said softly, almost to herself.

"Yes," said Corin. "He is more serious now. These last few weeks have been hard for him. Imagine all the things Father's been preparing him for."

"He does not feel ready to be king," said Aravis. "That, and he will miss Lune when he dies. As will we all."

"Yes," said Corin. "And Cor feels miserably about it—more than any of us, he sees the task before him, and it grieves him greatly."

"But… he'll make such a marvelous king," said Aravis, and realizing she'd spoken these words aloud; she looked down, her cheeks warm.

Cor did not mention her blush, thankfully, but he agreed with her. "He's the only one who doesn't think so," said Corin. "He's so serious these days. I suppose I miss the old Cor."

"As do I," said Aravis. She did not add that this new, serious man before them was equally intriguing, but somehow, she thought him best when he was a mixture of the two… as he'd been at the Southern March… Yes, barefoot and joyful, yet full of serious wonder: that was the Cor she loved best.

She felt shocked, even as her mind provided the word _love_. She'd tried to ignore it… to push it away. But somehow, this moment, she wanted to acknowledge it to the world—shout to anyone who'd listen how deeply in love with Cor she was.

"You look flushed," said Cor, who was now riding toward her. She realized he must have doubled-back to check on the caravan, and she felt embarrassed by his words. She smiled at him—she couldn't help it, for the concerned look on his face, those bright eyes and fair curls… they were more than she could stand.

"Oh… I'm fine," she said. "I'm just… enjoying the day. I say, what about a gallop, Cor? Like old times…"

Cor smiled at her, but said, "I really ought to remain with the caravan. Feel free to ride with Prince Corin, if you like. Please do not go alone." He nodded to her—curtly, she thought—and spurred his horse past her to the end of the caravan.

"A ray of sunshine, Cor is," said Corin. "How about that gallop, then?"

Aravis nodded and smiled wide, and then the two of them raced ahead of the court, down the forest path, northward, to Narnia.

OoOoOoOoO

Sunset in Narnia was something fine to see. To the West, of course, were hills and valleys, and beyond them large mountains. The gold of the sun set their black silhouettes on fire, then reached out to the sky with a pale blue, deepening to indigo, and eventually to a dark gray over the ocean, where storm clouds gathered, about to pour spring rains on the world. The last of that fine day could be seen as Aravis and Corin raced out from the woods and onto the hilly downs, covered in soft heather. Aravis remembered the ride north when she was escaping Calormen with Cor, then known to her as Shasta, and some delicious northern smell would catch them, and Bree—Shasta's horse—would shout, "Narnia and the North!" and they would gallop with deepest joy. She looked to her right, at Corin—at once wilder and more joyful than his elder twin, and for a moment, he reminded her of Shasta—Cor—in the days when he seemed careless and free. Would he be like that again? Not that she preferred Corin to Cor… but the contrast at least now was staggering.

Cair Paravel rose before them, a beacon in the evening setting of the sun, it's golden, sand-stone walls and great towers, and stained glass windows shone jewel-like to the north and west, built half-way into the cliffs at the sea. Aravis breathed in deeply the salt air, still galloping even as she wound up the road which encircled the castle, climbing up the steep cliffs on the rear, more hilly side, and into the bailey. It was not completely unlike climbing to the Tisroc's Palace, but instead of going through the busy, smelly streets of Tashban, it was the birches and beeches, and green woody smell that Narnia alone had.

Though she loved Anvard, and called it home, it seemed the more north and east she went, the closer to her true home she became. Over the sea, she knew; lay Aslan's Country—where she longed to go some day when she died… a place where all her present anxieties would leave her.

Aravis smiled brightly as the bright, smiling face of her friend, Queen Lucy greeted her from the steps of the Castle. Her royal brothers, King Peter and King Edmund, and her sister, Queen Susan remained still, and solemnly happy at the gate, but Lucy drew up her skirts and ran across the flagged pavement to Aravis, where she dismounted, and embraced her with a squeal of delight. "You've come!" shouted Lucy in none of the dignity that her siblings displayed. It was something that Aravis loved about her. Though older that Aravis by a full year, Queen Lucy somehow managed to retain a child-like joy that Aravis had never beheld in any person she'd ever known. She was as likely to hug you as to race you or fight you, for the Queen Lucy was all passion and excitement… and being near her dear friend, Aravis "caught the bug" as they say.

"Indeed!" said Aravis, hugging Lucy and kissing both her cheeks. "And you—you look well!"

"Oh, I'm a complete mess, actually," said Lucy with happy laughter, tucking her fly-away hair behind her protuberant ears and wiping her face. "I've been visiting with cook, you know, and I do love to help with baking."

"Indeed," said the voice of a tall, deep-chested man behind Lucy. "There is no need to have a cook with Lucy's wild experimenting in the kitchen lately." He stepped closer, took Aravis' hand, and kissed it. "My lady, you are welcome," said King Peter, for so he was—his eyes serious and his beard full, and his smile merry.

"My Lord," said Aravis, and she curtsied.

"Well met," said King Edmund, a little behind his brother the High King. "You look well, my Lady." He too kissed her hand. Edmund was just as tall as his brother, but leaner and he had no beard. His eyes were all solemnity, but there was a quiet merriment about him that rather reminded Aravis of Cor.

Then, the Queen Susan stepped up, and she (as always) was a vision of beauty and grace, though at times, Aravis found it rather haughty. "Welcome, Lady Aravis," said Susan, and she lightly kissed Aravis' cheeks. "But where is the rest of Anvard's Court?"

"Just coming now," said Aravis, and glancing behind her she caught site of Prince Corin riding into the bailey.

He dismounted and jogged up to Aravis, saying, "I'm nearly blown, my lady—you ride to fast. Did not my brother ask you to remain with me as your escort?"

"I'm sorry, Prince Corin," said Aravis. "I could not help myself—I'm in Narnia now… nothing could have harmed me."

"Indeed, Lady," said King Peter. "We would not hear of it. But how now, Corin—art thou taller than last we met?"

"It has been long, your highness," said Corin, who clasped King Peter's arm in brotherhood, then patted Edmund on the shoulder. "And you, Sire," he said. "Are well-met also!" Corin turned to Queen Susan and bowed low. "My Lady," he said. "You are a vision. Would that I were a mere half-score older…"

Susan smiled, but Aravis could tell she was not amused by Corin's flattery. She suffered to let him kiss her hand, and then asked, "But where is your royal brother, Prince Cor?"

"He'll be around," said Aravis. "He's remained with the caravan." She looked toward the gate. "Ah! There he is."

Far down the hill and across the green turf, Cor rode in front of the caravan. Wagons filled with supplies and horses came after him, onto the moor, approaching at a steady pace. "He is far off," said Queen Lucy. "I suppose you couldn't wait to get here. I am glad!"

"I couldn't," said Aravis, and she wiped her brow with her sleeve.

"We do our guests a wrong by not offering them refreshment," said Queen Susan. "Perhaps, Sister, you might escort my lady Aravis to her chamber?"

"Gladly," said Lucy happily, and linked her arm with Aravis'. "Come, we're to have a feast tonight."

"Oh, but my clothing—it's on one of the wagons…"

"No matter," said Lucy. "We can give you something of Susan's to wear, right Su?" Without waiting for an answer, she ushered her friend up stone steps and into the castle. "I'd let you wear one of my dresses, but you're ever so much taller than I am, and almost as slender as a wood nymph! I say, Aravis! This _will_ be fun!"

Aravis allowed herself to be spoiled by Lucy—she took a bath, and tried on any number of dresses before Lucy decided she _must_ be dressed in a sapphire blue which would look perfect with Aravis' olive skin and dark, almond eyes. It was quite different from when she'd stayed with Lazarleen Tarkheena in Tashban, for Lucy spoke of things that were of interest to them both, and she was quite excited to have Aravis there, whereas Lazarleen would prattle on about herself, and drive Aravis quite out of her mind.

"Shame you can't accompany us to Tashban," said Aravis. "Cor doesn't much want to go either…"

"You'll only be there a few weeks," said Lucy—then you can stay with me as long as you like!"

Presently, Lucy left for her own chamber where she would dress for the feast, and Aravis took the chance to lie on her bed and look out the large window, which faced eastward. She could hardly believe Lucy had convinced her to wear this dress—she'd never worn anything like it in her life. She knew it became her well—not just from the long mirror which hung in her chamber, but from the appreciative look on Lucy's face. Aravis couldn't help but wonder if Cor would notice how different she looked in it.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Feast the Eyes

Not so very late into the evening, a tall, slender figure could be seen descending the grand stair at Cair Paravel. Aravis' appearance, like the Narnian Continent, was richness, beauty, and danger at once. Her face and bare arms were the color of nutmeg, her eyes the darkest midnight, and her lips like the fire flowers from beyond the world's end. Her long, silken, chestnut hair was gathered elegantly at the top of her head and fell like the Great Waterfall down her back. Her heart beat was thick and fast as she took the steps downward, feeling uncertain of her footing, but willing herself not to do something embarrassing.

At first, no one in the busy hall noticed her. There were fauns and centaurs, and animals and nymphs—it was a sight that would have shocked Aravis years ago, but now she was as comfortable as could be, though admittedly it was odd to be one of only seven humans in the room. Somehow she knew suddenly, as one often does, that someone's eyes were on her. She scanned the room and saw Prince Cor, standing by a grand fireplace, a crystal goblet in one hand and the other behind his back. He was as splendidly dressed as she, wearing a blue tunic sewn with the Green Pine and Crescent Moon of Archenland, leather breeches, and a sword belt and sword. It was his Court clothes, and they somehow suited him perfectly in this atmosphere, though Aravis normally would prefer to see him barefoot and wearing earthy greens and browns.

On his golden head he wore a thin silver circlet and… it was _his_ eyes that were watching Aravis as she walked down the stair. His appearance spoke of the north, a compliment to Aravis' southern spice—each completing the other. Now Aravis felt doubly nervous, for the way he watched her was so very… different from any way he'd watched her before. Unblinking he stared, and she noticed, even from across the room, the white in his knuckles from holding his goblet so tightly. His mouth opened, and she saw him mouth the words, "By the Lion…" though he did not speak. His eyes were somehow darker, but they shone in the firelight with a glassy luster. Their lids were half-shut, in a gaze that Aravis had seen once before, though not directed toward her. Once, before her brother had gone to war, she'd caught him in the stables with a servant girl. Nothing so very scandalous was there in a chaste embrace and kiss, but Aravis had seen that same look in her brother's eyes when gazing on the servant girl… it spoke of some secret knowledge that she, as a small child, could not comprehend. But when she saw it in Cor's eyes—directed at her, Aravis, she could hardly bring herself to believe what she… thought it meant. Whether from drink or from staring at her so long, the prince momentarily lost balance, and staggered. He righted himself, looked around, and smiled at Aravis.

But now others were noticing her as well, for she had finally reached the bottom stair, and Lucy approached her, flanked by large talking squirrels, a leopard, and a bear. "You remember Aravis Tarkheena, don't you?" The animals all nodded and shook Aravis' hand in greeting.

"Lovely to see you all," said Aravis. She was ushered through a throng of people—some she knew, like Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, and some she did not, like Balins, a merry, black haired faun who greeted her warmly. Also were her old friends, the horses Bree and Hwin, with whom she and Cor had escaped Calormen four years ago. "Hwin!" said Aravis, approaching the mare and stroking her velvet nose. "Bree!" She patted the stallion on the neck. "How are you? I didn't know you'd be here!"

"Aravis," said Hwin softly, nuzzling her old mistress.

"Good evening, Tarkheena," said Bree with a merry whinny.

"How long have you been here?" asked Aravis.

"Not long," said Bree. "The Queen Lucy invited us in—we are housed in the lovely Castle stables, you know."

In Archenland, where there were almost no talking animals, it would have been strange to see all these animals—especially horses—inside a castle for a feast. But it was as natural as anything at Cair Paravel, for Narnia belonged to the Talking Beasts.

Gradually, with much encouragement from Lucy, Aravis was able to make her way to the head table which sat on a dais at the end of the room. She sat—everyone was beginning to sit now—beside Lucy on her left. No one sat on her right, because she was at the end of the table. The fireplace where she'd seen Cor was to the right of her, but when she glanced over there, she didn't see him anymore. She searched the room for him, though with Lucy talking to her it was hard to concentrate, but she never caught sight of him again throughout the evening. She knew he must be there somewhere, but she was busied first with conversation, then with an excellent feast of which she felt she'd eaten too much.

At last the feast was over, and all retired for the night. Aravis was disappointed that she'd not seen more of Cor that night, especially since she'd been so splendidly dressed, but she went to bed with a full belly, and was very warm in her covers.

In the second watch of the night, Aravis woke from troubled dreams—the same ones she'd had since she came to these northern lands, of being chased by the Lion. Only… this time it was different. After a moment, it changed. It was no longer the Lion who pursued her, but her father, Kidrash Tarkaan. She raced, hand in hand with Cor

They were on a field of green, standing side by side. Above them was a sky of steel, gigantic menacing clouds moved above them, and pockets of lightning struck in the gray expanse. Before tem was a steep hill. Aravis looked at Cor—he was staring at her. His eyes were an intense blue; they seemed to shine with light from inside. "You are ready?" he asked her.

She nodded: she was ready. They both drew from their sides long, curved Calormine scimitars, in both hands, and they began to run. The grass was wet—so slippery that they had to let go of their swords with one hand and helped and hindered one another, pressing onward all the time. The hill became steeper and steeper, but still they ran. "Almost there," Cor kept saying, breathing harder and harder. "We'll make it—we will. Aravis was running as fast as she could, but she was progressing so very slowly. No matter how hard she ran, Cor always seemed to be a step ahead, but then, holding her hand, he pulled her along until, panting and stopping, they reached the top of the hill and looked out. Before them was the wide ocean. Behind—for now they looked behind them—was the Tisroc's Army, led by Aravis' father. All of the soldiers had menacing faces—they were all murderous, and hungry for Aravis' blood.

"Do you trust me?" asked Cor, and the time stopped. The pursuing army stopped running, and everything was still, awaiting Aravis' response.

"What?" asked Aravis.

"I can change the world for you…" said Cor, "But only if you trust me."

"I trust you," said Aravis.

Time started again, and the army pursued. Cor clutched Aravis arms, and pulling her toward him, he bent his head down…

Aravis woke with a start—and was immediately irritated that it had been a dream… and that she'd dreamed it at all. She punched her pillow and tried to go back to sleep, but the moon was shining directly in her window, its beams straight in her face, and it was as bright as day.

Exasperated, she threw off her covers and walked to the window to pull the sash closed. But the view of the shore stopped her. Along the water's edge, there walked a solitary figure, his feet bare, the low waves licking his ankles and receding, back and forth, back and forth as he walked north, away from the castle.

It was Cor, she knew, from the way the moon light shone on his wind-blown golden curls. Come to think, it might be Corin, she thought… but she knew better. Corin, though wild and boisterous, would never walk in the dead of night, for he was a heavy sleeper, and didn't even rise early if there was no good cause for it. Besides, there was something in the resolute, though relaxed gate, the way that he seemed to carry himself, as if the world weighed on his shoulders along, that told her it was Cor… her Cor… her beloved prince.

He wore a white, billowed shirt and breeches, rolled to the knee, and nothing else. Had he just left his chamber? Perhaps he could not sleep either. Some restless—or reckless—notion came to Aravis, tempting her to don a dressing gown and run out to him there, on the moonlit shore… but she hesitated by her place at the window. Why should she wish to do this? He was not waiting for her. He would wonder at her presence. She had no pretence on which to address him. He'd gone out for a walk in the sea air, not to be accosted by a woman who could think of nothing but him.

It was with great effort that she remained where she was, contenting herself to simply watch him, walking down and up the shore. When he would walk toward her, she stepped back into the shadows, in case he chanced to look up exactly at her window—she didn't want him to know that she was gazing on him like the hope of eternity. Like a starving prisoner, condemned to death, she watched him—a king's feast, both enticing and mocking, one she could only devour with her eyes, never anything more.

Had she been mistaken about his look earlier in the evening? He'd definitely been staring at her as though a starved man. Had she… affected him? The thought caused her heart to race momentarily, and she took many deep breaths to calm herself.

Unfortunately—or was it the purposeful design of the gods?—she was so lost in her thoughts of the way he'd looked at her that she forgot to hide in the shadows the next time Cor turned to the south to continue his walk. She watched his gaze as it directed toward her window—she could not see his eyes—for both distance and light impaired her vision somewhat, but his face was turned toward her, crowned by his hair, looking like one of the tragic statues of the gods in the Tisroc's palace. He raised a hand and waved to her. Abashed, she raised a hand as well and returned his salute. Feeling completely ashamed, she drew back from the window until she could not see him any longer, and returned to her bed, exhausted, to sleep the rest of the night through.

OoOoOoOoO

The fortnight of visiting with the Narnians was one that remained among Aravis' fonder memories for the rest of her days. Narnia was a happy land, and its sovereigns ruled it justly. There were feasts and hunts, dances and visits, and the inhabitants were truly joyful. Narnia hardly ever had cause to go to war, for they were at peace with everyone, and anyone who tried to start anything soon realized that she was a strong enemy to provoke, with any number of beasts, giants, and divine waters and trees to contend with. Though she presented a formidable foe in battle, that aspect of Narnia slept now for four years since the defeat of Rabadash's army.

Leant Narnia's flagship, the _Splendor Hyaline_, the court of Anvard were watered and victualed for their three day voyage to Tashbaan, and Aravis found herself saddened a little as she parted from Queen Lucy. "We'll see you again soon," said Lucy, whose eyes filled with tears, as she hugged and kissed her friend. "Do not be sad."

"I am not the one weeping, my dear friend," said Aravis with a kind laugh. She was just as sorry to leave, but did not often make much of a show with her emotions. It was something she admired about Lucy, as impulsive as she could be, she certainly lived life fully.

"Be good," said Lucy, "And _try_ to enjoy yourself…"

"Because you ask it, I shall do my utmost."

The _Splendor_ was rowed past the shallows and beyond Narnia's cliffs, and a sure wind caught her sail, white with a red lion rampant, and brought the party out to sea.

The wind was lovely in Aravis' face as she stood on the poop, looking back at Cair Paravel. The castle was quickly shrinking into the distance, and once they rounded the cliffs of the peninsula upon which it was settled, it would soon be out of sight.

"Why look you to the past, Lady?" It was Cor, and he'd walked up beside her on the deck, leaning on the railing.

"The past, my Lord?" asked Aravis.

"There is open see before us, the castle behind," said Cor.

"It is the wind, my Lord," said Aravis. "I like the way it cools me."

"Indeed," said Cor. "It is pleasant." Aravis glanced at him sidelong, watching his eyes close and his lips part, looking freer and calmer than he had in many weeks. Aravis loved him best like this—just like this, without court duties and the ever-pressing needs things to be learned as the king-to-be.

"You are glad this day, Prince," said Aravis softly.

"I am, my Lady," said Cor, not opening his eyes, but tilting his head toward her. "There is freedom on the seas… Life is as it should be." His golden curls danced wildly around his head, shining in the sun's rays, and a slight smile played on his lips. Neither for the first time… nor for the last, Aravis drank him in, glad, as he was, to be free once more.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Bite at Night

A fair breeze blew the sails of the _Splendor Hyaline_, and the passengers on board were merry as they traveled with the land on their right and the sea on their left. Their first day of sailing went easily enough, skirting the Bight of Calormen—the misleadingly calm gulf just south of Narnia where sudden storms were known to come with furious winds even on the balmiest days. But far out through the Bight, the sky was clear and the sun bright and warm, and none of them were concerned. "Though," said Corin when they were talking about the possibility of a storm with their captain, a dwarf from Narnia called Frystin, "We could do well with a storm—it promises to be quite boring without a little adventure."

"Your highness will forgive me for saying you're mad to wish a storm," said Frystin. "The less adventure we have on this voyage, the sooner we will get to Tashbaan—and the sooner we can return home."

"You are not very interested in Calormine, are you, Master Dwarf?" asked Cor with a smile.

"Your highness knows I'm not," said the dwarf. "But though I'd rather be at the anvil with a hammer and good piece of metal, there's nothing so fine as a two day voyage—even if it is to that accursed land."

Aravis nodded, and said, "It will be over in a week, Captain Frystin, then you may return to your mines."

"Still," said Corin, "What does one do aboard ship when there's a fair wind and nothing to occupy one? How pass the long hours?"

"Brother, you might simply sit and enjoy the voyage," said Cor. "Or read, or play chess."

"That's something more suited to your tastes, brother," said Corin. "But if only there was a battle to be joined, or…"

"Your highness may climb the main mast to sit aloft in the crow's nest, if you like," said Frystin. "And tell me if you can see Tashbaan yet."  
"We've only been sailing half a day," said Cor, "Do you think it worth—"

"That's something like!" said Corin, and practically leapt across the deck to the mast, and began climbing the netting. As the ship pitched and heeled, he swayed on the nets, but Corin was not the type of young man to give up easily.

"You can climb faster than that, lad," said the dwarf with a hearty laugh.

"Not as easy as it looks," said Corin from about ten feet above them. He looked up, and sighed with dismay when he realized he'd only climbed about a seventh of the way to the crow's nest.

"What about you?" asked Cor, looking at Aravis. "Would you like to see the view from up there?"

"You couldn't get me up there if you threatened me with death," said Aravis. "I'm terrified of heights. Even as high as he is now… I'm sure I would fall." Cor chuckled slightly. "Don't let it stop you from going, though," she said, her eyebrows raised.

Cor cleared his throat. "I… don't much fancy heights myself, if it comes to that," he said, then turned his attention to the dwarf once more. "When will we dock, then, Captain?"

"Morning on the third day, highness," said Frystin. "Though perhaps a little sooner if—"

There was a shout, and all looked toward the mast head. Corin dangled from the nets, now about 20 feet up, his left leg caught in one of the holes, its angle skewed. "_Tarnation_!" Corin exclaimed, trying to hoist himself up, and grunting with pain. "A little help, please?"

Cor wordlessly leapt upon the netting and grasped the net, hand over hand, until he was at his brother's side. He looked down a moment, then again at his brother. Aravis could tell how uncomfortable he must be up there, but he was climbing with a sense of ease that was born from the need to assist his brother—he didn't have a choice. She watched with admiration, wondering that only a moment ago he'd declined to climb at all. "Easy," said Cor, lifting his brother so that he could grasp the ropes. "What happened?"

"The rope was slippery—there's water…" said Corin, his face red with pain from his leg. "I think I broke my leg. Help me down, would you?"

"Aye, that can happen, highness," said the Captain, who'd also climbed the rigging and began helping Cor bring his brother down. "The spray will spew up far sometimes—I ought to have warned you."

"I'll live," said Corin. "Unless my royal brother drops me. Have a care, would you, Cor?"

"If you weren't so blasted heavy this would be easier," said Cor, hoisting his brother down finally, onto the deck.

"Are you all right?" asked Aravis, who rushed to Corin's side and knelt down. She felt his leg, much to his pain, and saw that it was indeed broken, though the bone did not protrude from the skin. "You'll need it set," she said. "Captain, have you anything I can splint this with?"

"Certain, we have splints in the supplies below, my lady," said Frystin. "But let one of the sailors—"

"I'm not completely helpless, you know," said Aravis. "Hold him up, Cor."

Cor reached around to his brother's torso and pulled him to a sitting position. "What are you going to do?"

"Set it," said Aravis, and Cor nodded.

"Set it?" asked Corin, evidently alarmed at the prospect.

"Yes," said Aravis, "Unless you want to be lame the rest of your life from a leg that didn't heal properly.

"But… can you?"

"Trust her," said Cor. "She's visited the hermit more times than I—he's taught her all sorts of things about healing and medicine. She'll set you right."

Aravis placed her hands along Cor's lower leg, grasping it tightly. "This will hurt some," she said.

Corin nodded curtly but did not flinch, and a moment later, with a sickening crack, the leg was set, and he breathed deeply. "Lion's Mane!" he said through clenched teeth. "That smarts… but strangely it feels better. You're quite the physic, my lady."

"You'll need to rest that, Corin," said Aravis, taking the splints that Frystin gave to her and beginning to wrap his leg. "No climbing, fighting, of hoping for a storm."

"Makes reading sound much more enjoyable," said Corin sarcastically as he rose to his good leg and took a staff from the Captain.

"Not much of a crutch, highness, but it'll do," said Frystin. "My apologies—"

Corin waved him off, "My fault, not yours," he said, "If only I wasn't so keen on bolting to the top, I wouldn't have slipped."

"Well, it can't be helped now," said Aravis, "Would you like to lounge on a chair on the poop?"

"I think I'll lay in the cabin for a while," said Corin. "Though I thank you. Wake me for supper, won't you?" and he headed off to his and Cor's cabin to rest.

"Adventures or food," said Cor smiling, "Such is the entirety of my dear brother's thoughts."

"You have a bit of the adventurer in you as well, highness," said Frystin.

"Indeed," said Aravis. "The way you helped him—I thought you weren't keen on heights either?"

Cor laughed slightly. "It's another matter when someone's life is in danger. But let's not speak of it—I think I will take your idea of lounging on the poop—lovely day for it, isn't it?" He climbed up the stairs onto the poop and sat on one of the rough chairs that faced out to sea.

"His highness is modest," said Frystin.

"He is, indeed," said Aravis, her eyes on Cor and her heart beating thickly.

"And… a good kind he'll make…" said Frystin, his eyes sharp, noticing everything.

"He will," Aravis agreed.

"Would you like to sit with him, then?" asked Frystin.

"Oh," said Aravis, coming out of her reverie. "I suppose… actually, I think I'll go to my own cabin for a little…"

"Aye, lady," said the Captain with a nod and what Aravis swore was a wink.

OoOoOoOoO

Aravis wondered if she would get tired of Corin by the time the trip to Calormen was over. Though brave in battle, and filled with courtesy, he was intolerably infantile about his leg injury. Aravis wished she had Lucy's magic cordial—one drop would cure him—but it was not to be, and they simply had to deal with his complaining. "I'm certain we can have a Calormine physic come and help you," said Aravis at supper that first night. "Calormine medicine is quite advanced, you know."

"I'll take nothing offered by those devils," said Corin, who'd been in a foul mood since Cor woke him for supper.

"Buck up, brother," said Cor. "If you wish, you can stay aboard the entire time, and Aravis and I will go to the coronation ceremony by ourselves."

"And be bored here on the ship?" asked Corin. "No… I'll come ashore. And I'll see your Calormine physic if you insist…"

"Good," said Aravis cheerily. "Now do try and be content, Corin. It's a lovely night—no sign of storms anywhere." It was strange that she said those words at exactly that moment, because far of, in the very center of the Bight of Calormen, there was a bold of lightning, and roll of thunder a moment later.

"You were saying?" asked Corin with a half-smile.

"Bring those supper things to the galley!" shouted Captain Frystin from the ship's wheel. "And all hands on deck but their highnesses!"

Everything was very busy for the next few moments, and though Aravis did as she was told, the storm came upon them so quickly that she'd barely gotten down the stairs and onto the deck when a great wave soared over the side of the ship and swept her feet out from under her. She hit the floor of the deck, bruising her knees, and pushed herself up again. "Get inside!" shouted the Captain and Prince Corin at once.

"Let me help you, Prince!" shouted Aravis. She ran to his side, hoisted his arm over her shoulder, and half led, half dragged him to the cabin.

"I'll get him in!" shouted Cor over the storm. "You get inside now!" Aravis looked around, her hair whipping her face, and she saw Cor staggering toward them, waves rushing across the deck toward him. From seemingly out of nowhere, a beam came crashing down toward Cor.

"Watch out!" shouted a sailor. Too late, the beam hit Cor in the stomach, shoving him against the railing and over it.

"NO!" shouted Aravis. She let go of Corin and rushed to the side of the ship.

"Back inside!" shouted Captain Frystin, "We'll get him!"

Aravis did not obey. She saw Cor, over the side, dangling with his legs caught up in the rigging that had fallen. Without thinking, she grabbed hold of a rope, and holding it tightly she leapt over the side after him. It was for the sickening moment that she was in mid air that she realized how foolish this was, but she had no time to think about it as the rope tightened and her feet hit the side of the ship.

"What are you doing! You daft woman!" the captain and other sailors were at the side of the ship, all holding to the rope she'd jumped off with.

"I don't know!" Aravis called back. "I need some more rope! I can't reach him!" She looked below her, sickened by the swirling waves below, but found her courage when she saw Cor's limp form, tangled in ropes and netting, she became brave and attempted to lower herself again. Her hands slipped, and she felt the rope cut her palms. "I'm slipping!"

A second later Frystin was at her side, a robe around his waist, and another in his hands. "You'll be the death of us all!" he said, but as he spoke he quickly tied the second rope to Aravis' waist as well. She was now able to loosen her hold on the other rope and climb down a little more. "This will work for now—but we have to get you up. Prepare to heave, lads!"

"NO!" screamed Aravis. "We have to save him!"

Surprised by her scream, the Captain did not argue, and shouted, "Lower us a little, Lads!"

They were lowered on their ropes until they were level with Corin. His head moved, and Aravis felt a jolt in her stomach—he was alive! They grasped his arms and pulled him up—his feet easily came out of the rigging, and Aravis realized that perhaps a moment later, and he would have fallen to his death in the icy waves below. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and Frystin took one of his arms, and both heaved as the captain shouted, "Heave ho, boys!"

A moment later, they were on deck, and several people were ushering them to the cabin. Once inside, the door closed, Aravis and Captain Frystin dragged Cor over to a bunk.

"What's happened!" asked a white-faced Corin, sitting on the floor and clutching his leg.

"He's all right," said the captain, "But this lady ought to be whipped for her foolishness!" He sounded angry, furious, even, but then said, "And if it wasn't for her, you'd be next in line to be king, lad."

"Well, congratulations, then," said Corin, brightening. "What's the matter with him?

Aravis shook Cor where he lay on the bunk. "Wake up! Cor! Are you all right?"

"Now, now, let the man breathe," said Frystin.

Cor coughed and groaned. "What's happened?"

"You're alive!" shouted Aravis, and embraced him. A moment later, she pulled away, her face very red.

Cor sat up on the bunk and looked around, then held his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been clubbed," he said.

"Nearly," said Frystin. "You were knocked against the side of the ship—but you'll mend. Now, if you'll remain here, highnesses, I'm going out on deck to help steer us away from this wretched Bite." Without another word, the captain strode from the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"You… saved me?" asked Cor.

"You need to rest," said Aravis.

"She did indeed," said Corin, smiling broadly. "She jumped over the side of the ship. Don't know what she was doing…"

"You… jumped over? You could have died. I… I…"

"No better than you rushing at a lion to save me," said Aravis, who was beginning to feel foolish.

"No better!" said Cor. "You… could've been killed!"

"I wasn't," said Aravis, and she stood up and crossed the cabin to a port hole. "The rain… it's died down. I suppose storms don't last long in the bite, do they?"

"You… saved me!"

"I believe the lady doesn't want to talk about it, brother," said Corin. "Nor do I, come to think. We ought to get some sleep—it must be well after midnight now."

"I… am not very tired," said Aravis. A moment later, Cor was at her side.

"Nor am I," he said softly. "Why did you jump over the railing?"

"It was… you were going to die," said Aravis.

"Did it occur to you that the Captain could have gotten me?"

"…No. Not at the time. Though… I suppose, if I'd thought about it…"

Cor folded his arms and said, "Do not put yourself in harm's way again."

"What?" asked Aravis. There was a loud snore behind them, and glancing at the sleeping Corin, sprawled out on a bunk, she lowered her voice. "What?"

"You should have gone to the cabin, Aravis. You will not put yourself in harm's way again."

"I 'will not?' Who are you to give me orders?"

"The future king of Archenland," said Cor.

"You arrogant—"

"I'm your friend, Aravis," said Cor fiercely. "And I… and just listen to me, all right?"

He stepped away and rushed to the door. Before he opened it, Aravis said, "Running away?" He paused a moment, then opened the door, and left.


End file.
